Chasing Dragons
by Dragon Claw92
Summary: When Dimitra finds herself unwillingly about to be executed, she gives up all hope of locating her missing grandfather. However, fate has other plans, and she soon finds herself embarking on a quest to not only find out where her lost relative got to, but to save Tamriel itself from the perils of Alduin's wrath. The question is... can she pull it off? Or will she join the fallen?
1. The Beginning of Chaos

The first thing she was consciously aware of was the rocking of her own frame. Soon it was followed by the rough material – likely strips of coarse leather – biting into her wrists. A shiver rand own her spine, a small groan escaping her as her ruby red eyes opened. "Finally you're awake." A masculine voice remarked, and as she looked up from the wagon's floorboards, the High Elf found herself blearily staring at the rugged face of a well-built Nord man with messy blond hair. He too was bound, and a quick glance at the others in the wagon drew her to realize that she had somehow landed herself a prisoner in what she could easily guess to be the civil war. If only she could remember how it happened.

While she tried to recall it, she could hear two of the other wagon passengers murmuring about her, apparently able to guess she was an Altmer right away and using the time presently available to grumble insults about the 'damn elves' who – according to them – were the source of all Tamriel's woes. A faint snort escaped her; typical that the Nords would instantly cuss about the elves simply because she could hear it. Turning her gaze back to the man across from her, the High Elf hesitated before speaking up. "Are you going to insult me too? Or are you going to tell me what happened?"

The man grimaced at her words. "You got caught in the Imperial ambush, same as us, and the thief beside me."

"I could have been halfway to Hammerfell by now if it weren't for you lot. " The indisputably filthy, smaller man in question grumbled. "The imperials were lazy and careless before your power-hungry leader decided to make a mess of everything."

The Altmer woman raised an eyebrow when she saw every other man glare at the thief. Apparently he said something wrong.

"Watch your tongue." The blond snapped, nodding his head towards the most richly dressed man in the wagon, who happened to be directly on the Altmer's right. A gag was clearly visible in this man's mouth, and the blond's next statement explained why. "That is Ulfric Stormcloak; the true High King."

The High Elf zoned out on the conversation now. She never really cared about the war, politics, or the mess that was made when both were employed. Her real passion had always been magic, and her grandfather's stories about days gone by. Ah, her grandfather; the sole reason she had come to Skyrim in the first place. She hadn't heard from him since before her mother died three years ago, other than the occasional letter promising to come and visit again when he wasn't so busy. However, no less than eight months ago, she got a letter telling her that he wasn't likely to even have a chance to write for an unknown amount of time. She unknowingly scowled as she recalled the last bit of conversation she'd had with her father before she left.

"Dimitra why pester an old man when it's so obvious he wants nothing to do with you?" He had said, sounding as though he really didn't care at all about the possibilities.

"What if he's in trouble?" She had insisted. "What if he needs help?"

Her father's biting and harsh words still stung like salt in an open wound, even after so long. "If your grandfather got himself into trouble, I highly doubt there is anything you could even hope to do that would be good enough to help him. Just go back to your studies; if you want to be someone someday you'll need to know a bit more than wives' tales and meaningless stories about things that don't even exist. You are a woman now, not a simpering child, so start acting like one."

The Altmer shook her head and fought back the tears threatening to slide down her cheeks, forcing her attention back to the world around her and scowling at one of the Stormcloaks that were staring at her. "What?" She snapped quietly, her present emotional state causing her to lash out. "Waiting for a perfect opportunity to insult me? Trying to figure out some way to humiliate me before we all part ways?"

"You… You're that ambassador's daughter, aren't you?" He asked, almost sounding afraid. "That irritable Thalmor ambassador that hated Vedsil so much?"

All signs of venom vanished when she heard the name 'Vedsil', replaced now by shock and surprise. "You know Vedsil?" She asked, not daring to say he was her grandfather. "Where is he? Where was he going?"

Before the man could answer, however, the wagon stopped, another waggon already stopped beside it, with its load of prisoners already getting off. Dimitra glanced around, a shiver running through her when she saw an execution block waiting nearby, the headsman not far off and lazily sharpening his axe. All she could do was watch helplessly as, one by one, the Stormcloaks were listed off and sent to stand in line to wait for their demise. Soon she was the last one not mentioned, and after a moment or two the man with the list spoke, sounding rather confused. "Who are you?"

Now the Altmer hesitated, unsure if she should tell him or not. If he figured out who her father was, she could get sent back home! That was the last thing she wanted! However, she quickly decided that telling the truth was probably the best move she could make. "Dimitra."

The Nord checked his list again before looking at the Imperial woman beside him. "Captain, she's not on the list. What should we-"

She cut him off, her response irritable. "Forget the list; she goes to the block."

Dimitra's face went white. They were going to kill her too? She hadn't even done anything! This wasn't justice, it was murder! "You can't do this!" She protested, panic evident in her eyes. "I haven't even done anything!"

The Nord opened his mouth to speak, but the captain beat him to it, a hand going to her sword hilt. "I said you were going to the block." She snarled icily. "Now move before I cut your legs out from underneath you and drag you there myself."

Hesitantly, Dimitra joined the line of Stormcloaks, her red eyes searching for any sign of a way out, or anyone who would save her. No such mercy could be found, though she thought she could see sympathy in the eyes of the Nord man who'd pointed out she wasn't on the list. By now she could hear the man she knew to be General Tullius ranting and threatening Ulfric in a manner that reminded her of a boy she knew from her younger years; he'd always been a cruel bully and had enjoyed picking on people who couldn't defend themselves. Zoning out on the general banter of Tullius and the priest designated to give last rights, Dimitra only returned her attention to what was going on when a red-haired Stormcloak said irritably. "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this overwith!" As he spoke, he stepped forward, clearly implying that he wasn't interested in divine mercy. Soon he was kneeling before the chopping block, his head resting on the blood-stained wood. The headsman raised his axe, almost about to execute the man before him, only to pause and lower it, listening as a loud, rumbling roar echoed around them. "What was that?" He asked, clearly rather confused.

There was a pause before anyone answered. "It was nothing." General Tullius responded finally, though he sounded a little uncertain. "Carry on."

The executioner nodded and adjusted his hold on the axe before lifting it again, hesitating just long enough to make sure his aim was true, and then brought it down on the prisoner's neck. Dimitra cringed and turned her head away, eyes closing as she heard the voices of those watching speak out, some against the Imperials, and most against the Stormcloaks. Once it died down, however, the woman who condemned Dimitra earlier spoke again, her words enough to make the Altmer's blood run cold.

"Kill the High Elf next!"

"Wh-what!?" Dimitra yelped, her face paling again. "I'm not even a Stormcloak!"

"I said next prisoner." The woman growled, and as she spoke, she took a step or two closer, fully intending to make good on the threat she'd spoken earlier.

For a moment, Dimitra considered trying to run, though she remembered that the horse thief got himself shot when he tried it, and as such she nervously moved forward, getting pushed to her knees once she was in front of the chopping block. "Please," she whimpered faintly. "I didn't do anything, this isn't right!" Her words were ignored, however, and she soon found herself bend over the block, cheek pressed against the blood-soaked wooden surface. Fearfully, she stared up at the headsman. From this angle and closeness, she could see he was half blind, and that she would get no sympathy from him. His axe was lifted and ready.

"What in Oblivion is that?!"

That shout caught everyone's attention, and soon the creature that caused such a ruckus made itself known. It was a massive, lizard-like monstrosity, the light of early morning glinting off its shiny, jet black scales. Eyes as bright as bonfires glowed ominously within their sockets, and as it perched on one of the nearby towers, it seemed to be searching for something – or perhaps someone – to devour. For a few, nerve-racking seconds, the great behemoth surveyed the scene before it, time enough for Dimitra to realise just what it was thanks to stories and sketches from her grandfather.

"D-dragon…"

No sooner had she breathed this out than the great beast fixed its gaze on her. Nothing short of terror jolted through the Altmer as her eyes met the creature's, and while it was only a matched stare for a moment, Dimitra felt fear for a lot longer than that. She nervously looked away, trying to muster the strength to actually move, and as she tried to get moving, the black monster opened its mouth and uttered some form of guttural noise that sounded oddly like a foreign language. What happened afterward, Dimitra couldn't explain, nor could she stand up against the powerful blast that knocked every person there clean off their feet, and even pushed Dimitra – who had been kneeling – flat on her back. The Altmer groaned dazedly as she lay there, trying to regain her sense of up and down. Soon though, she was shaken back to awareness by someone. It was the Imperial Nord from before; the one who had realized she wasn't supposed to be executed. "Get up, we have to get out of here now!"

The Altmer moaned faintly as she felt herself getting pulled to her feet, and as she managed to regain her bearings, she felt her bindings being cut away. That in itself was a major relief all on its own for her, and as she hurried clumsily after her rescuer – rubbing her wrists the whole time – she stammered with unease. "Why is there a dragon here? Th-they're supposed to be dead!"

"We can worry about that later." He responded briskly, hurrying towards a collapsed wall and starting to climb over it. "Just stay close and keep your head down!"

Dimitra wasn't about to argue with a statement like that. Flinching as the dragon dive-bombed a soldier just a little ways behind her, the Altmer scrambled after her savior, ignoring the pain in her wrists as she clambered after him. She practically fell down the other side, wincing as she hit the ground and struggling to her feet, getting pulled up by the soldier and hurriedly ushered into the fort. No sooner had they slammed the great doors shut, had a powerful blast of fire struck against it. Needless to say, both the Altmer and her companion moved away from the door as quickly as possible. For several seconds, the pair merely stood there, braced for any sign of the door getting attacked again, though finally the Nord spoke, his voice a little shaky and his face faintly pale. "Was… Was that really a dragon?"

Dimitra took a moment to answer, a shudder rippling through her frame as she half whispered, well aware that her own face was whiter than her companion's. "Yes… but how? They're supposed to be all gone!" Her head was swimming with confusion, fear, and dizziness. What had the dragon said? Why was it even there? She had too many questions and too few answers for them. All she'd wanted was to find her grandfather, not get tangled up in military affairs and dragon problems. Just how long had there been dragons about anyway?

"Dimitra?"

The man's voice drew her from her thoughts. "Huh? Oh, what is it?"

He grimaced as he studied her for a moment, and then answered gravely. "We should keep moving. If you're any good with a sword, grab one and we'll keep going." While he spoke, he motioned towards a weapon rack at the other end of the room, and then moved to the door near the rack. "I think there's another way out further in, and even if there isn't we will at least be away from that dragon."

Dimitra gave a vague nod as she walked across the room and carefully picked up a sword. She had to be honest with herself; she'd never used a weapon like this before, nor had she considered wielding one. She'd always preferred magic over metal, and doubted she could even swing a blade properly, let alone kill something with it, excluding herself. After hesitating, she shook her head and put it back. "It'd probably be best if I stuck to magic." She confessed awkwardly, turning and walking over to the Nord. "I'm a bit clumsy with things like swords…"

The man stifled a hollow laugh. "I figured you were one of those types; your robes gave it away." He then pushed the door open and went through, waiting for Dimitra to follow him before closing it and shuffling down the hall at a brisk pace. The Altmer wasn't about to waste time dawdling, keeping up with her rescuer as best she could. Opening her mouth, she was about to ask what his name was, but the fortress suddenly began to violently shake, part of the ceiling caving in up ahead before it all stopped. Dimitra staggered heavily enough to fall over, bumping into the soldier and knocking them both to the floor. Muttering apologies frantically as she got up, Dimitra's words were only stopped when he got to his feet and remarked. "Let's just keep going and not mention it, shall we?"

Nodding, she mustered a faint, awkward smile before finally spitting out the question she'd intended on asking prior to falling over. "What's your name anyway?"

"Hm?" He asked, glancing over his shoulder at her as he pulled open another door.

"Well," she replied with a small shrug. "I can't just call you 'soldier man', can I?"

The ghost of a smile tugged on his lips. "My name is Hadvar." He responded simply, though he froze as second after before looking through the now open doorway. Voices could be heard from within, and by the sounds of it, they weren't friendly.

Stormcloaks.


	2. The Mysterious Mage

"Do you think we can reason with them?" Hadvar asked quietly, sounding as though he wasn't sure if his question was legitimate or merely a fool's hope.

As much as she wanted to say it was a possibility, Dimitra knew better than to expect a miracle. Shaking her head, she murmured in response. "I wouldn't count on it; I'm an elf and your lot just tried to kill them all. The warmest welcome we'll get from them is a fireball, and that's if any of them decided magic was a worthwhile choice of study."

She could tell that this wasn't exactly comforting logic to him. An easy passing through would have been a blessing, though there was nothing that could be done now; it was fight or die trying.

By now the Stormcloaks figured out that they were in the hallway, and no sooner had the two blue-clad warriors came into view than they attacked. Dimitra inhaled sharply as she and Hadvar dodged backwards to avoid the large axes the Stormcloaks were swinging, electricity flickering to life and dancing between her fingertips as she tried to pick which one to attack. She'd never really had to use her magic on a person before, not her destructive magic at least. Restoration was her preferred topic of arcane study; she had only learned the more dangerous arts for situations such as the one she had the misfortune of landing herself in now.

Hadvar was already locked in combat with one of the Stormcloaks, too busy with the one in front of him to pay notice to the other, who was presently trying to attack the Imperial soldier from behind. Praying that she wouldn't miss and hit Hadvar by mistake, Dimitra threw her hand forward, electrical energy surging from her fingertips and catching the Stormcloak square in the back, causing him to collapse, a twitching and shuddering mass of man and armor. The loud crackling and sizzling sound, followed by the dull thud of the man hitting the floor drew the attention of Hadvar and the other warrior, both hesitating a moment to see what happened. It was this small pause that gave Hadvar the opportunity he needed. He turned back to his opponent and running him through before the Stormcloak could fully collect himself and retaliate.

Dimitra cringed as the man fell, Hadvar's sword now red with the man's blood. Shuddering, she turned away, hoping she wasn't going to get sick. "Death is so not my idea of entertainment…"

Hadvar glanced at her with very vague amusement, leading onward as he spoke. "I can tell. You're kind of violence is likely just political debate."

"I don't care about politics." She responded, and had she not been so happy for a topic change, she may have been a little annoyed at the assumption. Dimitra had no patience for politicians and their practices; all the politicians she knew were just as arrogant and self-centered as her father, who she cared very little about after his last words to her. "The only thing politics is good for is making a mess."

The Imperial soldier seemed amused by her remark. "You aren't the first elf I've heard that phrase from. The last time I heard that was from a mage chewing out a couple Thalmor quite some time ago. We can talk about that later though; we need to get out of here."

The trip through the crumbling keep was anything but enjoyable. More Stormcloaks were further in, and beyond them and the normal stonework were more natural caves with massive spiders, and even a bear of all things. Luckily though, Dimitra and Hadvar made it out alive, and were soon on their way to Riverwood. As they went, Hadvar glanced Dimitra over with what appeared to be mild curiosity, and eventually he asked. "So, if you don't like politics and have no love of death, what is it you enjoy anyway?"

She blinked at the question. Nobody really used to ask her that at home, other than whenever someone was trying to get in her father's good books by being nice to her. "Magic." She replied simply, though she paused for a moment before adding. "Learning about Dwemer technology, and listening to old stories. Mainly stories about dragons."

The Nord raised an eyebrow, looking as though he wasn't sure how to respond. Finally, he found his voice again. "You sound like that mage I mentioned. He seemed to think he could find something in Bleak Falls Barrow." Hadvar shook his head at the thought. "I told him the only thing he'd find up there was trouble."

"Bleak Falls Barrow?" Dimitra asked, her tone and expression quizzical. "Isn't that a burial site? What kind of trouble could there be?"

The soldier frowned slightly. "Draugr, bandits, traps… possibly wild animals if they found a way in. I just wouldn't go there; even at a distance it's eerie." He stopped walking and pointed at something across the valley. "See that ruin up there?"

The Altmer turned and looked. Missing the old stone arches and formations would've been impossible. "That's Bleak Falls Barrow?" She had to admit that it did give off an air of ominous foreboding. "What would anyone sensible want in there?"

"That's what I asked that mage." Hadvar replied grimly. "All he said was something about carvings, and then wandered off. He was an odd Altmer, that's for certain."

"He was an Altmer?"

"Yes." The solder paused to study her again, a new curiosity in his eyes. "You look a lot like him, actually. Got any uncles?"

"No." She replied. "Only my grandfather, Vedsil." Of all the relatives Dimitra had, it had always been her grandfather that she took after. She didn't have any of her father's fair features – something she was happy about – and only her softer jawline was from her mother, who she barely got to know. Everything from her black hair, to her tanned skin, to even the shape and color of her eyes, was the image of her grandfather in feminine form. Perhaps that was part of why her father was annoyed; he didn't get a child that was anything like him.

"If that mage is your grandfather, he aged very well." Hadvar remarked. "Unnaturally well." By now they could see a small town - more of a village than anything else – up ahead, and the Nord breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, that dragon hasn't been here. Come, let's find my uncle."

As they entered town, Dimitra scanned around for any sign of her grandfather, though no familiar faces made themselves known. The only really interesting thing going on was a young man arguing with his mother about something she had seen. Soon, however, she was distracted by Hadvar's voice. "Uncle Alvor, hello."

An older looking Nord looked up from the grindstone he was working at, surprise plain as day on his face as he got up and walked closer. "Hadvar?" He asked in confusion. "What are you doing here?" He paused to look at Dimitra, and then back to his nephew, a note of suspicion in his voice. "And who is this?"

"She's a friend." Hadvar replied. "Saved my life, in fact. I'll tell you more inside."

"What kind of friend?" Alvor persisted, setting the dull knife he'd been sharpening on his work bench.

Hadvar blinked once before quickly shaking his head. "Not the kind of friend you are thinking of, Uncle. Can we discuss this inside?"

The blacksmith still seemed a bit skeptical, but nodded and headed toward the house. "Okay okay, we'll go inside. Sigrid can get you something to eat, and you can explain everything."

Dimitra looked curiously to Hadvar as they followed Alvor to the front door. "What kind of friend did he think I was?" She asked quietly, unable to help herself.

Hadvar gave her a vaguely sheepish smile. "The sort that might marry me."

The High Elf was thankful for the dimness of the house, because she was certain she blushed such a shade of red that her eyes appeared dull in comparison. She was even more thankful that Alvor was asking Hadvar all the questions. It gave her time to sort out her thoughts more clearly, as well as ponder some unanswered questions. Had the mage Hadvar mentioned really been Vedsil? What could be so valuable that it would drive him to go to Bleak Falls Barrow? What if he got killed in there? Where did he go if he made it out alive?

She shook her head slightly before realizing Alvor was watching her. "Huh?" She asked lamely.

"Hadvar mentioned you were asking about that wizard he saw a while ago. We saw him too days ago, leaving Riverwood Traders. You might be able to find out more about him there."

Dimitra smiled faintly at this, most of her interest being reflected in her ruby eyes as she nodded. "Thank you." She turned towards the door, tough she paused and looked to Hadvar afterward. "And thank you for saving me." With that, she smiled a little more and headed outside. It was late in the day now, too late to go anywhere out of town for the evening, and the Altmer was too exhausted from the day's adventuring as it was. For now, all she wanted was peace, and time to rest. Unfortunately, upon entering the shop Alvor mentioned, she was greeted by an argument between the proprietor and who appeared to be his sister.

"Well one of us has to do something!" The woman exclaimed crossly, oblivious to Dimitra's presence. "We can't just let them get away with it!"

"I said no!" The shopkeeper snapped. "No adventures, no theatrics, no thief chasing!"

"Um… excuse me?" Dimitra asked, looking between the pair in confused uncertainty. "Is this a bad time?"

"No, we just finished." The man behind the counter replied, shooting his annoyed looking sister a pointed look. "What can I help you with?"

"I was told you might be able to tell me about an Altmer mage that was here a couple days ago."

The shopkeeper frowned as he thought about it. "I can vaguely remember someone like that… I can't remember for certain though. Some stuff came up that's taking up most of my concentration."

"You had a break-in?" Dimitra inquired.

"Yes." The sister replied hotly. "A solid gold ornament shaped like a dragon's claw. Those thieves took it and ran off to the barrow with it. No idea why they stole that and not anything else, but whatever its worth, they thought it was worth stealing." She glared at her brother again. "And _someone_ doesn't want to get it back from them!"

The Altmer had spoken before she realized what she was saying. "I can get it. I was going to go there anyway."

"You will?" The shop owner asked hopefully, his expression brightening a little. "I've got some coin coming in from my last shipment; if you can bring the claw back, it's yours."

"I-I'll set out tomorrow morning then." Dimitra replied, mentally chastising herself for not thinking before speaking. "Maybe you'll remember more about the wizard by then." She promptly turned and left before she could say anything else without thinking first, and the whole way to the Sleeping Giant Inn, she tried to figure out what she was going to do now. She could leave without saying a word, but she'd already committed herself to the task. No, she would just have to knuckle down and do it. They were counting on her now, and she'd have to do or die trying, and with any luck it wouldn't be the latter of the two.

Dimitra only half payed attention as she spoke with the innkeeper and rented a room for the night. Even as she lay down, she was in a bit of a daze, too tired to do anything but too alarmed by her new predicament to fall asleep. "What did I get myself into?" She mumbled in exasperation.

She wasn't expecting an answer to come from a small hole in the wall beside her, a crack between the boards. "Only you can answer that question." The voice said quietly.

Dimitra rolled over and stared at the wall in surprise. "Who said that?"

"Someone in the room beside yours." He replied simply. "I thought that was obvious. Now, what's bothering you?"

The Altmer was too tired to care at the present, and soon had told the stranger everything from the attack on Helgen to the present time. Once she was done, the voice was silent for a couple seconds, and then replied. "And what do you think this grandfather you speak so highly of would tell you to do?"

"He'd tell me to stick to my word and find the gold claw."

"Then why are you so unsure? It's obvious he would think you could do it if he would tell you that. Why be afraid with backup like that?"

Dimitra paused to think on it a little. "You're right. He wouldn't tell me not to if he thought I could do it. Thank you."

"Anything to help a fellow adventurer. Now, we both have journeys to make, and morning comes early. No more fussing about it; just get some sleep."

"Okay… Good night then. Good luck with your adventure." And as she drifted off to sleep, she thought she heard her mysterious neighbor respond one last time.

"Good night… Dimitra."


End file.
